


Hewn of Ash and Amber

by MB234



Series: Atani & Eldarin: Tales of Antilogy and Accord in Middle Earth [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Children, Cute Bard, Elf Maid, Elves, Eventual Smut, F/M, Good Parent Bard, Middle Earth, Original Character(s), POV Bard, Protective Bard, Smitten Bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 20:32:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MB234/pseuds/MB234
Summary: “Will you stay?” Bard asked, his voice colored with that gentle fervent lilt he used when trying to convince Tilda that it was safe for her to fall asleep again after she’d woken from dark nightmares of trolls and blood and battle, things no small child should know, and he found himself slightly surprised to find that same reflex coming easily to him now. He would have expected that assured confident warmth to be slightly, unintentionally, forced but the vast need that he felt clinging to his chest, digging into the lines around his eyes, that she stay here, that he could see her again on the morrow, ensured that his tone was soft and inviting.When she smiled, strawberry stained lips beginning to curl into a bright smile, revealing pearly white teeth and the most comely dimples he’d ever seen in all his days, he suspected that he had his answer, and his long allayed heart soared deep in his chest in response._This is a spinoff featuring an OC from my other fic, Bound in Blight and Bliss, the servant Iôlhel!! I was so excited to write this, and I am very proud to present it for your reading pleasure! Please enjoy, and let me know any comments you may have!





	Hewn of Ash and Amber

All That Glitters: A Short Story of A Slippery Meeting, A First Impression and A Hint of Dragonfire

 

 

_Stars curse it all, there was just so much to do._

 

Bard sighed wearily, already exhausted despite the prevenient hour of the day. The sick and the crippled being housed in the ruins of Dale required fresh water and bandages, commodities worth all the gold in that cursed mountain looming in the distance, the children required caretakers as their mothers and fathers were either missing or needed to fortify the once formidable Great Hall of Dale as a backup in case of emergencies of the bloodletting kind, and search parties had to be organized to sweep the Long Lake for any straggling survivors. Once those daunting tasks were completed notices would be posted regarding any missing persons still unaccounted for and arrangements would be made for the burial of their valiant dead.

 

Swiping a fur encased, grime and dirt coated forearm across his sweating brow, Bard sighed, adjusting his grip on the brimming bucket of fresh water he’d just fetched from the nearby well, a small offering he intended to present to their bustling head of medicine, Bilga, for all her hard work over the course of the last few days. She was a portly woman that carried her heft with agile grace as she moved from patient to patient and who possessed a kind smile that was quick to flash on her weathered features and a booming voice that could carry over even the direst of screams. She had single handedly saved the lives of countless Lake-men; all the survivors of Lake-town owed her a great debt. Fetching this small pail of cool liquid was the simplest and most practical show of gratitude that Bard could muster at the moment, between his burdensome and reluctant acceptance of the temporary position of Master and the caretaking of his own little family, but it would have to do.

 

Bard was still deeply entrenched in thoughts of shortening supplies and exactly how long well water would stay fresh when he caught sight of something like copper glinting in the sun, something like the roar of Dragonfire, and not a moment later he found himself barreling over the slim slip of a female, nearly knocking her over with the frantic motion of his gait. He managed to prevent her from toppling over with the respectful placement of his hand high on the curve of her waist, just under her shoulder blade, though the water sloshing in his pail didn’t respond well to the sudden ceasing of momentum and proceeded to splash all over her skirts, glinting on the cobalt of her dress like sapphires, slipping like diamonds on her skin in the late summer sun.

 

“My deepest apologies, young maiden, I did not see you there and now my clumsy steps have thoroughly soiled your vestments.” Bard ran a weary hand over his brow, suddenly self-conscious over the wrinkled dirt he felt seated there on his flushing skin, “I am properly ashamed.”

 

The maiden lightly wiping at her sopping skirts laughed as she looked up at him, the bright glint playing in her bronze eyes effectively stealing his breath away. She blinked at him, once, twice, thick auburn lashes fanning heavily against speckled, moon pale cheekbones, and Bard felt his heart stutter pitifully in his chest in response.

 

Light freckles lay scattered about the apples of her cheeks, falling carelessly across the bridge of her small elegant nose, as if the _Star Kindler_ Herself had shook the heavens and supplanted the falling embers lovingly about her fair face. Her lips were nearly as red as her hair and twice as inviting, curving slowly into a gentle smile that had Bard’s own mouth curling in fervent, uncontrollable answer. If this comely maiden was kind enough to smile at him after he’d spilled nearly a whole pitcher of water on her fetching blue dress and dainty booted feet, how in all of Arda could he not smile back?

 

Never mind that his coat was ragged, stained and torn from Dragon fire and overuse, his thick, unkempt black hair tied back carelessly out of his weather weary face and bruising bags sat heavy and dark under his eyes, he would smile and bask in the pleasant glow of her presence, gaze into the deep copper of her eyes that made him feel lighter, unburdened, for just a moment longer. Then, and only then, would he resume his numerous momentous tasks, first and foremost among them being the retrieving of a washrag for her to dry herself with.

 

“It is nothing,” She insisted, her soft voice lilting like a song he remembered from his childhood, one about milk and honey and things that sparkled in the sun, “The casualties were merely textile in nature; no fallen bodies here.” The smile she flashed him had a strange lightness settling in his chest, set his fingers twitching, as if they longed to trace the constellations those freckles displayed when her eyes crinkled. He had to know her name.

 

“What are you called, maiden?” His tone held just a touch more fervency than Bard would have liked, but he was thoroughly charmed when she didn’t balk, but simply flushed and glanced down, her bronze eyes concealed by the thick fall of her lashes.

 

“Iôlhel, My Lord,” The maid said, dropping unexpectedly into an elegant curtsy, the motion brimming with practiced grace, as if she performed the gesture often.

 

“Iôlhel,” Bard repeated as an uncontrollable grin spread across his lips, the syllables slipping from his tongue like a tingling peal of delighted laughter, as honeyed as the silken caress of a lover, and he quickly found that he liked the way they felt there. Dimly he realized that his hand was still curled around her slender waist, fingers sitting just under the curve of her slim shoulder blade, and hastily, with the gentle clearing of his suddenly tight throat, Bard slipped the offending hand away, noting with no shortage of pleasure the way she seemed to start, as if she had completely forgotten the appendage was there, as if she had gotten used to its presence. “Though your pretty titles are dilatory, My Lady, for truly I am no Lord.”

 

“And I am no Lady,” She said, flashing him a look that could almost be seen as _flirtatious_ before dropping her gaze hastily, as if she feared she’d been too bold. Bard tried to reassure her with the smooth hum of his chuckle and the genuine smile he gave her before he answered.

 

“It was very nice to meet you, fair Iôlhel,” Bard said, his ire spiking with the passing of a number of clumsily armored men whose presence caused the crushing weight of his numerous responsibilities to flood back onto his weary shoulders, breaking him from the pleasant sight of rosy lips that warmed his weary heart and glinting copper eyes that flashed like bronze coins in the sun, “Though if it’s alright, you shall be _my_ Lady.”

 

The feeling that warmed his heart at her blushing smile could almost be described as affection, as kinship as it roiled gleefully in his chest, and as he watched Iôlhel bow once more, low and graceful, Bard fervently hoped that he would see her again. He snuck glances at her over his shoulder as they parted, reasoning fervently that perhaps he could seek her out after midday progress inspections and inquire as to whether she had safe lodgings here. He wasn’t sure if they could accommodate another body, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.

 

Bard was still firmly buried in thoughts tinged by milky, freckled skin and peals of bell-like laughter as he entered the chambers where the sick were being held, that valiant pale of water sloshing lighter in his grip, matching the feeling roiling in his beating breast. He nearly ran straight into his intended target of good will, Bilga, with her steely blue eyes and peppered dark hair. When she spied the offering, an appraising gleam in her weathered gaze, Bard bashfully realized that he hadn’t refilled the bucket, which currently sat at about a third of capacity. Bard braced himself when Bilga drew in a sizeable breath to question the quality of the meager offering, settling in reluctantly for a justly deserved admonishment.

 

It wasn’t until he had reached the merciful end of her scalding lecture that Bard realized that the fall of Iôlhel’s glinting copper hair had been tucked behind _foliate_ ears, exotic ears that culminated in a delicate wicked point, like the sliver of a waxing moon or the slip of a farmers scythe.

 

Mouth falling open, that lilting curiosity fiercening heatedly in his breast, Bard realized that his copper wrought, moon pale vixen was an _elf_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Lovely Readers!
> 
> Here it is - the Bard/Iôlhel spinoff! As promised and crafted with love, I present to you all the first chapter of this little fic. Writing such smitten, complex characters is always a pleasure, but I'm very excited to hear your thoughts on how I did here! Please let me know if our Iôlhel felt the same as in Bound in Blight and Bliss, if she felt different, if you're dying for more!
> 
> And for those just arriving to our party, welcome! This fic is a spinoff of an earlier fic that I'm almost done with, Bound in Blight and Bliss, featuring Thranduil x Reader. I'm trying to write this fic so that it's a sorta standalone, needing the occasional prop-up, story but I do highly suggest reading Bound in Blight and Bliss also, just cause it's good and you might enjoy it in addition to catching a few references here and there.
> 
> If this piqued your interest please let me know, and a mood board for this should be out soon! Thank you!


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